


say my name

by sansaswildlinglover



Series: A-Z Kinks collaboration [6]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Loud Sex, The kink of the day is: loud, smut with angst and feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:32:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15960881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansaswildlinglover/pseuds/sansaswildlinglover
Summary: Her back is a straight line, both of her hands are clutching the pommel of her sword and her face is set in that stubborn, phony stoic look he knows so well. Jaime thinks she's never looked quite so uncomfortable as she does standing here guarding the door to the chambers where the former King in the North is bedding his new bride, his sister nonetheless, even if she's supposed to be his cousin now.***Sansa has always been quiet and softspoken, even if he knows how passionate she can get when they're arguing, but on their wedding night she didn't hold back. She cried and mewled and called out his name. He feared he was going to spill in his breeches like some green boy, and he was almost ashamed how quickly her moans had driven him over the edge once he was inside of her.But after their first night those moans eased into soft sighs and quiet whimpers.ORJon just wants to hear Sansa scream his name. Jaime and Brienne are the poor souls who have to suffer through listening to her doing so.





	say my name

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Debbie's A-Z Kinks Collab, L for Loud!

Her back is a straight line, both of her hands are clutching the pommel of her sword and her face is set in that stubborn, phony stoic look he knows so well. Jaime thinks she's never looked quite so uncomfortable as she does standing here guarding the door to the chambers where the former King in the North is bedding his new bride, his sister nonetheless, even if she's supposed to be his cousin now.

The irony of it all isn't lost on Jaime — if Bronn were here, he'd never hear the end of it — but now is hardly the time for soul searching. He'd rather watch the vein in Brienne's temple as she tries not to blink or the slight twitch of her mouth at the awkwardness of the situation.

She throws him a glance, her mouth a thin line and her nostrils slightly flaring, and he can't resist offering her a smirk in return. She averts her eyes and in the flickering light of the torches it's hard to tell whether she's blushing, but he's willing to bet she is. He can practically feel the quirk of his lips fading into something softer.

He shakes his head and focuses his eyes on a dark stretch of wall. He's had his fill of women, and there's a war coming.

 _"Ooh,"_ a high-pitched moan drifts through the thick wood of the door, and then another one. _"Oooooh!"_

Brienne's grip on her sword tightens and quite impossibly her body grows even more tense. Jaime tries to keep his chuckle low. It would appear that dolt knows something after all.

Sansa Stark's moans subside into occasional soft mewls and shudders, but the flush on Brienne's face doesn't fade. Her hair is golden in the dim light and her face a deep crimson, and Jaime decides he quite likes that. 

His thoughts are disrupted when Sansa cries out: "JOOON!"

Brienne whirls around and her hand is already on the bolt. Quickly, he grabs her wrist. "You do not want to go in there."

"But she was screaming!" she objects.

He opens his mouth, taking a moment to savour his amusement. "I heard that," he points out.

She shakes off his hand and reverts back to her position. He leans against the doorframe and watches her until the feeling of his eyes on her makes her look at him again. "What?" she snaps.

"I forgot," he muses. "You've never had a man make you scream like that, have you?"

Her face scrunches up as she shakes her head and tells him: "Oh shut up!" 

He pauses, licking his lips. She's always been quite endearing when he manages to rile her up. And she always makes it too easy for him. "Aren't you curious? We could all be dead in a matter of weeks. Don't you want to find out before you die?"

Her answer takes him completely by surprise. "Perhaps I will. I'll have you know I do have admirers, and as you say, there's a war coming."

He straightens up. "Admirers? Who? That wildling fellow with the beard? You loathe that idiot!"

"No," she corrects him. "I loathe you!"

He sighs dramatically. "Even after all this time? You're breaking my heart, Brienne!"

Nothing can chase away the joy the answering glint in her eyes brings him, not even Sansa Stark's new and even louder moans.

***

Being married to Sansa is better than Jon ever could have dreamed. Their days haven't changed much, though with each passing one there's less time they can spend together where it's just the two of them. They're ruling a kingdom and preparing for war after all. But they still have the nights.

Jon wouldn't say he was scared on their wedding night, but he was worried, apprehensive even perhaps. He hated himself for forcing Sansa into another unwanted marriage, even if she was the one who had insisted on the match. Perhaps he should have been happy the gods were granting him his heart's most secret wish after all, but he couldn't help thinking that he was getting it in a most cruel and twisted way.

Even after trying everything in his power to smother his inappropriate affections for his sister, it had only taken one look at her for him to realize he was still smitten. He wanted her and now he had her, but Sansa was only trying to do what was best for the North, for Winterfell and their people. She only wanted to keep their family together.

She married him for love, but not the kind of love he so desperately desired, and when he entered their chambers after the feast, she was there on the bed, waiting for him, ready to do her duty. He wished to make it good for her, especially after everything she'd suffered, but he was afraid he'd scare her by betraying his true feelings, by showing how much he wanted her.

He removed most of his clothing and climbed up on the bed, keeping his eyes on her face, searching for any sign of fear before he leaned in and cupped her cheek and softly covered her lips with his. To his surprise, she kissed him back, so sweetly, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

"I'm so glad it's you," she whispered against his lips.

She was eager and pliant in his arms, so responsive to every single touch. It was more than he could have hoped for. He's sure the way she writhed against his mouth and the sounds that fell from her lips will keep him warm through the worst of winter. Nothing can make him quite as hard as the memory of her screaming his name when she peaked against his tongue, so much so that he's had to adjust himself during meetings.

Their nights together easily beat any dream Jon ever conjured up in his depraved mind, but there's one thing that has been bothering him. Sansa has always been quiet and softspoken, even if he knows how passionate she can get when they're arguing, but on their wedding night she didn't hold back. She cried and mewled and called out his name. He feared he was going to spill in his breeches like some green boy, and he was almost ashamed how quickly her moans had driven him over the edge once he was inside of her. 

But after their first night those moans eased into soft sighs and quiet whimpers. It's not that he doesn't enjoy those, he muses as he looks up from between her thighs to see her spread out on the bed before him, naked and glorious, chest heaving and arms pushed back to brace her hands against the headboard. Seeing her like this already has him half-hard. 

Her hips jerk in protest as his mouth stills and one of her hands reaches down to grip his curls, trying to steer him back to where she needs him most. He grins, gripping her hips more tightly. He kisses the inside of her thigh, drawing an annoyed whimper from her lips. 

He presses his lips to the crease of her thigh and then to her mound. Slowly, he drags his tongue through her folds, but only ever so lightly, resisting the hand in his hair that's trying to pull him closer. She tries to buck her hips and releases a groan of frustration. 

He chuckles into her sensitive flesh and circles the little bundle of nerves between her lower lips with his tongue, but only once. He glances up, wishing to see the result of his attentions. Her face and chest are flushed and there's still a hint of a glare in her heavily lidded eyes. She bites her plump bottom lip and the sight is nearly enough to unman him and give in, but he won't.

"Jon, please," she breathes, making his cock twitch.

"Please, what?" he asks between strokes, lapping up her arousal. "You're so quiet, Sansa."

The hand in his hair releases its grip and his head follows the movement so he can glance up at her face. The blush on her cheeks has darkened and she's worrying her lip between her teeth. Her eyes seem more alert and a little uncertain.

"I want to hear your moans and your cries when I kiss you down there," he clarifies.

She licks her lips, propping herself up on her elbows. "It's not proper," she mutters. "Anyone could hear."

"I want them to hear," he confesses. "I won't let you peak unless you promise to scream my name."

He inclines his head to lavish attention on her nub and reaches for her hand to twine their fingers together. He groans when she whispers: "I promise."

She doesn't disappoint. She's no longer trying to hold back her moans and whimpers, and when she comes undone against his tongue, her juices soaking his beard, she cries out: "Jon! Jon! Jon!"

He works her through her release and pushes himself to his knees, sitting upto gaze down at her, balancing her ankles on his shoulders.

"Sansa," he growls and she nods. He pulls her hips up until they are resting on his thighs, her legs dangling over his shoulders, and uses his hand to guide himself into her wet heat. He groans and she gasps as he pushes deeper inside of her than he's ever been before. 

He wraps an arm around her thighs, taking her hand to lace their fingers together and pulls almost all the way out before sliding back in. She's so hot and tight around him, but wet enough for him to hear himself moving in and out of her, and what's even better, she mewls with every agonizingly slow stroke.

He grabs her hip and thrusts harder, and she smiles and squeezes his hand. "Like this?" he asks her.

"Yes, please! Faster Jon!" she whimpers.

He grunts and releases her hand to press his thumb to her nub. She fists her hands into the covers and tosses her head sideways, squeezing her eyes shut as her teeth dig into her lip.

"I still want to hear you," he reminds her. 

Sweat is dripping down his back and brow and Sansa's tits are bouncing and jiggling with every thrust. She arches her back and the pitch of her moans increases until she's practically sobbing and she cries out: "JON! OH GODS!"

With her cunt fluttering around him and her whimpers spurring him on he quickly follows her over the edge, his hips stuttering as he holds himself deep inside of her and his release takes him.

He pulls out and releases her legs to lie down beside her, gathering her in his arms until their mouths find each other. Their kiss is interrupted by pants and smiles, and her fingers are rubbing and tickling his beard. When he tastes salt on her lips, he tilts her chin up with a finger to study her face.

"Are you crying?" he asks. "Did I hurt you?"

"No." She shakes her head. "My body just feels so light and relaxed and I couldn't stop the tears." She takes a deep breath and nuzzles his cheek. "I wish you didn't have to go."

He can't help it, the words spill from his lips before he can stop them. "I love you," he whispers.

A cautious smile lights up her eyes. Her voice is still hoarse, but her words are unmistakable. "I love you, too."

***

He finds Brienne where he expected her to be, faithfully guarding Sansa Stark's door. She doesn't answer the smile he offers her and when he closes the distance between them, he quickly figures out why that is as a long and shuddering cry rises from inside the room behind Brienne. 

He leans against the wall beside her and points his golden hand at the door, asking: "Are they at it again?"

She makes a face and opens her mouth, but seems to think better of it. He tilts his head, raising his eyebrows. 

"I," she starts, clenching her hands. "I don't understand why she has to scream like that. It sounds horribble!"

He laughs, a boisterous and joyful sound that seems foreign to his own ears. "I can't imagine why," he chuckles.

"Are you mocking me again?" she demands to know.

"Never," he answers without hesitation, holding her blue gaze until her eyes finally relax. She licks her lips and looks away. 

"Well, I'll leave you to it," he says, nodding before he turns around, but after a couple of steps he pauses and glances back at her. "You know where to find me if you need help imagining what could make you scream like that," he says offhandedly.

The look on her face is enough to get him through the Long Night.

 


End file.
